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January

The lute lies rusted in its green case odor of pines is synthetic; sweeteners artificial; even salt!  our tongues crave something dif...

Monday, January 2, 2017

#2

And my own work, what refuge can it offer

against the dull hell of other people's writing?

Projects half begun, never finished

Juvenile fantasies of jazz piano

And lipstick ladies?

Lame parodies of Pound's Confucianism

& worse

Addictions to self-improvement

And the memorization of Keats

Always under and overconfident at the same time

Even self-criticism inert, leading only

To more stupid bachelor breakfast tricks


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